


The Camelot City Council Christmas Party

by squilf



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Drunken Confessions, M/M, intensely British, terrible things happening to photocopiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 02:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17112812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squilf/pseuds/squilf
Summary: “So Merlin,” Gwaine grins, hooking an arm around his shoulders, “Are you hoping to catch anyone under the mistletoe this year?”Merlin is the overworked aide of MP and professional clotpole Arthur Pendragon. He’s also helplessly in love with him. And quietly hoping that something might happen at the office Christmas party.





	The Camelot City Council Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themilitarymonk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themilitarymonk/gifts).



> A little Christmas present for [themilitarymonk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themilitarymonk/pseuds/themilitarymonk), who has wanted me to write some Merthur for ages.
> 
> This fic is not at all inspired by my recent office Christmas party. I promise.

 

“We’re going to be late,” Merlin says.

Arthur Pendragon, MP for Camelot and professional clotpole, rolls his eyes.

“It’s just the office Christmas party, Merlin. I think my duties of office were more important.”

“You opened a Lidl.”

“I’m supporting the –”

“Local economy, I know, I did write the speech.”

Merlin flashes Arthur a sarcastic smile. They’re in the back of a cab, on the way back to Camelot City Hall, and Merlin is pretty fed up after standing outside in the rain for two hours. Arthur, who is annoyingly adept at checking emails and sniping at Merlin at the same time, looks up from his phone.

“You’re late for everything,” he says, “You just only seem to mind about it when there’s booze involved.”

“I’m never late!”

“You’re always late.”

“I am only rarely late.”

“Sure,” Arthur says, pulling a face.

“If I’m ever late, it’s only because I’m doing something you asked me to do.”

“Poor time management,” Arthur mutters.

Merlin seriously considers hitting him. Fortunately, that’s when the cab pulls up to the City Hall.

“Thank you,” Arthur nods to the driver as he climbs out.

“See? Not so hard to say, is it?” Merlin mutters to himself as he grabs all of the bags and documents and gets out of the cab.

In two years of working for Arthur, he’s never got a thank you. He’s got a lot of “do this, Merlin” and “do that, Merlin” and “you idiot, Merlin”, though. Even now, Arthur’s already striding up the steps, leaving him behind.

“Come on, Merlin!”

Merlin sighs. For some reason, he has feelings for his terrible boss. He’s told himself to get over it so many times – who ever heard of an MP and their aide, except in a scandalous tabloid report? – but it’s never really gone away. Every time they fight, he wants to shut Arthur up with a kiss. And now it’s the Christmas party… well, he can’t help but hope something might happen after a few drinks. It’s kind of pathetic. No, really pathetic. Merlin hurries after Arthur.

“I need a drink.”

 

* * *

 

Inside, Merlin dumps everything on his desk. There’s a bottle of beer there waiting for him, because Gwen is an _angel_ , and he takes it and heads to the second floor. Everyone’s already there, gathered around the Christmas tree. The office is a sea of Christmas jumpers, Santa hats and tinsel ties. Percival has dressed up in a festive gym vest – it has a cartoon of a weight-lifting Santa, captioned _Do You Even Gift?_

“Alright,” says Leon, clapping his hands together, “Time for secret Santa!”

(As both Camelot City’s Road Planning Officer and head of the party planning committee, Leon is probably the dullest person Merlin knows.)

Gaius enters the room dressed as Father Christmas, carrying a sack of gifts.

“Ho ho ho,” he says, practically unrecognisable underneath his huge white beard.

Everyone cheers and claps. There are even a few wolf whistles.

“Have you been good boys and girls all year?” Gaius says.

Most people shout “Yes!”, but there are a few “No!”s, and a “Have you _seen_ the end of year financial report?” from Elyan, which gets a laugh from the rest of the finance team.

“Well, let’s see what I’ve got for you in my sack,” says Gauis.

He shuffles around the room, handing out presents.

Gwaine unwraps a Christmas jumper that says _Naughty but Nice_ , which he immediately puts on and rushes to the bathroom to take a selfie of – albeit one with him pulling up part of the jumper to reveal his abs. He emerges five minutes later, saying, “Hey, Percival, what should I caption this for the gram – I was thinking something sexy but classy like ‘lick my candy stick’?”

Arthur gets a novelty mug that reads _Future Prime Minister_.

“Well, we’ll see about that,” he says, laughing.

“I’ll drink to that,” Lancelot says, filling the mug with his secret Santa gift – a good bottle of red.

(Arthur got Lancelot in the secret Santa, which means Merlin bought and wrapped that present.)

“Don’t tell Mrs May,” Arthur says, clinking his mug against Lancelot’s plastic cup.

Gaius passes Merlin a scruffily-wrapped parcel. He unwraps it quickly, expecting some chocolates – but when he opens the box, he gasps. It’s a watch. Expensive. Designer. Simple but beautifully made.

“This is worth _way_ much more than the £5 limit –” Merlin starts, and then the words catch in his throat when he sees the engraving on the back of the watch: _To keep you on time._ Merlin looks at Arthur. He’s busy talking to Lancelot, discussing plans and Whitehall gossip. Somehow, he’s never felt closer or further away.

“Alright everyone,” Leon says, “Put your wrapping paper in the assigned recycling bin, and then it’s time for ‘Pin the site of the new B-road on the map of Camelot’!”

He’s met with a quiet, unenthusiastic cheer.

“I need another drink,” Gwaine mutters, disappearing into the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

‘Pin the site of the new B-road on the map of Camelot’ quickly descends into a hastily improvised drinking game, and Leon’s protests of “Let’s keep it safe, people,” eventually end when Morgana drags him into the copier room, saying something playing a game of their own. Before long, the Jackson 5’s _Santa Claus is Coming to Town_ is blaring out on the speakers, people are dancing, and the party is well underway.

Merlin’s keeping an eye out for Arthur – he needs to say thank you for his gift – but he’s not sure where he’s got to. He might have even left already. Merlin feels a prick of disappointment, before realising how sad it is that he’s at a party, trying to find his _boss_. He feels too hot and formal in his suit, so he takes off his jacket and untucks his cobalt blue shirt, rolling up the sleeves.

“Here,” Gwen says, coming over and pulling a hat shaped like a roast turkey over his head. There’s a hole for his face, and Merlin’s pretty sure he looks ridiculous.

“How do I look?” he asks.

Gwen giggles wildly, nearly spilling her sherry.

“Don’t I look like all your Christmas dreams come true?” Merlin says, with as straight a face as he can manage.

“Oh, definitely.”

They both burst into laughter.

“It’s alright, I know who you’ve _really_ got eyes for,” Merlin says, looking across the room at Lancelot.

Gwen raises her eyebrows.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course not. It’s not like you’ve been pining over him all year.”

Gwen hits him.

“Are you talking about me?” Gwaine says, swooping over and handing Merlin a beer.

He’s got a mince pie, which he takes a huge bite out of before somehow flashing Gwen a dazzling smile.

“You don’t exactly play hard to get, Gwaine,” Merlin points out, raising his beer in a toast before taking a sip.

Gwaine winks.

“That’s because there’s enough of me to go around for everyone. Just… take a bite.”

He finishes off his mince pie in another huge gulp.

“I’m calling HR,” Merlin says.

Gwaine laughs, nearly spraying a mouthful over him.

“So Merlin,” he grins, hooking an arm around his shoulders, “Are _you_ hoping to catch anyone under the mistletoe this year?”

“Of course,” Merlin says flatly, “Why’d you think I put this hat on?”

“Come on,” Gwen goads him, “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind a cheeky snog from someone in the office. We have some real cuties.”

“Thank you,” Gwaine says.

“And Gwaine,” Gwen adds.

Gwaine sticks his tongue out at her.

“If you _had_ to,” Gwen says, “Who’d it be?”

Merlin groans.

“Oh, no, no, I’m not playing this game.”

“C’mon,” Gwaine says, “It’s festive!”

Merlin rolls his eyes.

“So was your stripping Santa routine last year, and we all know how that went.”

Gwaine points a finger at him.

“It was worth every second of that tribunal, and you know it.”

“Stop avoiding the question,” Gwen says.

Merlin sighs.

“ _Fine_. Lancelot, just to see your face.”

Gwen laughs.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“I might, if you don’t make your move,” Merlin says, taking a swig of his beer.

“Or someone else might,” Gwaine adds, “You know, there’s a lot of people here tonight. And he’s a handsome guy…”

Gwen narrows her eyes at them. They look back at her with identical expressions, eyebrows raised, arms crossed.

“Point taken,” she says.

She downs her drink, turns on her heel and struts onto the dancefloor.

“Yass, queen!” Merlin shouts after her.

He sees Gwen make her way through the crowd towards Lancelot, and then they’re together, dancing and laughing, as if that’s exactly where they’re meant to be.

“I taught her everything she knows,” Merlin says.

Gwaine laughs.

“That was a nice thing you did for her.”

“Hey, Lancelot’s a catch. How do you know I didn’t really mean it?”

“Because I’ve seen you looking for Arthur.”

Merlin looks at Gwaine, wide-eyed. Gwaine’s gaze is level, serious.

“He’s outside, by the way.”

Merlin’s cheeks are burning. He laughs awkwardly.

“Why – why would I be looking for that idiot?”

Gwaine takes Merlin’s turkey hat off, musses his hair, brushes his shirt down. He steps back to look at him.

“That should work.”

“What?”

Gwaine pushes Merlin towards the fire exit.

“Gwaine!” Merlin protests, trying to squirm away.

“Good luck!” Gwaine shouts, shoving Merlin out of the building.

“Gwaine!” Merlin yells, but Gwaine’s already pulled the door shut behind him.

From behind the glass, Gwaine grins at him and does a few pelvic thrusts in time to the music.

“ _Really_ , Gwaine?”

Gwaine gives him a thumbs up, then does a ‘walk like an Egyptian’ dance back to the party. Their colleagues cheer as he hits the dancefloor. Merlin sighs.

“Did you get kicked out already?”

Merlin turns, startled. It’s Arthur. He’s sitting on the brick wall that marks out the car park, his hand curled around a bottle of beer. He must be tipsy because he seems relaxed, his face breaking into an easy smile. Looking at him makes Merlin _ache_.

“I’ve never been kicked out of anywhere,” Merlin says, “Well, unless I was with Gwaine.”

“You’re always down the pub.”

“That,” Merlin says, sitting down next to Arthur, “Is a lie, perpetuated by Gaius.”

“Hmm.”

“Cheers,” Merlin says, clinking their beers together.

They drink. It’s cool outside, the wind ruffling their hair. Sitting there, Merlin’s filled with an indescribable sadness. He knows that the alcohol has something to do with it, but it feels real, and hard.

“You know, I was meaning to find you,” Merlin says.

“Why?”

“To say thank you. For my present.”

“It’s meant to be _secret_ Santa, Merlin.”

Merlin frowns.

“Well it’s not very secret, seeing as I got yours for you. And wrapped it.”

“That is what you’re here for.”

Merlin laughs, short and sharp.

“And I appreciate it,” Arthur adds.

Merlin stares at him, leans back a little.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough to do things I probably shouldn’t,” Arthur says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Like telling me I do a good job?”

“One,” Arthur says, holding up a finger, “I said I appreciate what you do, not that you do a good job.”

Merlin rolls his eyes.

“And B,” Arthur adds, “I only said that because I was thinking about kissing you. But you couldn’t hear that, because it was only in my head.”

Merlin blinks.

“Oh,” he says.

Arthur grimaces, looks away.

“It… probably should have stayed in my head.”

Merlin’s stomach is churning.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, suddenly feeling very bold, “I think about it too sometimes.”

Arthur frowns.

“Very funny, _Mer_ lin,” he says, dragging out Merlin’s name in that way he always does when he’s annoyed.

“It is quite,” Merlin says, “I mean, you’re always bossing me around –”

“I am your boss,” Arthur interjects.

“I do everything for you,” Merlin continues, “And you just think I’m an idiot.”

Arthur looks down.

“And yet,” Merlin adds quietly, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He looks away from Arthur, downs his beer.

“It’s pretty funny.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” Arthur says, “Not all the time, anyway.”

Merlin chuckles.

“Yeah, well, you’re a clotpole.”

“A _clotpole_?”

Merlin nods.

“Mmm.”

“Well, you’re –” Arthur starts, and then Merlin catches his eye and he pauses, reconsiders, “– Really quite wonderful.”

Merlin smiles, and suddenly realises how close he is to Arthur, their hands almost touching. Suddenly the fire doors burst open and Elyan emerges, his eyes going wide when he spots Arthur.

“Don’t go in the copier room.”

“What’s in the copier room?” says Arthur.

“Nothing,” Elyan says, “Definitely not your sister.”

“What?”

“Elyan,” Merlin says, “Where’s _your_ sister?”

“Showing Lancelot the stationery cupboard,” he shrugs.

Merlin nods slowly.

“The stationery cupboard,” he repeats.

“Yeah, on floor three,” Elyan says.

Merlin raises his eyebrows meaningfully. Elyan’s eyes go wide again.

He tries to get back in through the fire exit, realises he can’t, and storms off around the side of the building, muttering something about calling dad. Merlin and Arthur laugh. It’s awkward when they stop, not looking at each other, the air heavy with what’s lying between them.

“I should probably call a cab,” Arthur says eventually.

“You don’t have to go.”

Arthur pushes himself off the wall.

“I should leave you to it.”

“Wait,” Merlin says, grabbing him by the tie and stopping him short, “There’s something I want to give my secret Santa.”

Arthur meets his eyes.

“This can be a secret too,” Merlin says.

And then he pulls Arthur closer and kisses him. Arthur kisses him back, pressing himself closer, his hands moving up to hold Merlin’s face, stroke his cheekbones with his thumbs. Merlin hums in surprise – he didn’t expect Arthur to be so enthusiastic, not that he’s complaining – and moves his hands to Arthur’s sides. When they finally break apart, he’s dizzy and breathless, his heart pounding. Arthur keeps holding him, looking at him.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says.

Merlin laughs.

“And I am a clotpole,” Arthur adds.

Merlin kisses him again, short and sweet.

“A bit,” he says.

“I’m going to call a cab.”

“You don’t have to go,” Merlin protests, but then Arthur kisses him again, and he understands.

“If you want,” Arthur says.

Merlin smiles, nods. Arthur smiles back, pulls out his phone and walks away from the building a little. Merlin looks back towards the party, hoping no one’s seen what just happened. His hope is short-lived. Gwaine, Gwen, Lancelot, Elyan and Percival are pressed up against the glass of the fire escape door, grinning. They cheer when he spots them, raising their drinks in a toast. Percival, who seems considerably drunker, even goes so far as to rip off his shirt and whirl it around his head.

“Shh!” Merlin hisses, holding a finger to his lips and pointing frantically at Arthur, who still has his back to them.

“What?” Arthur says, turning around to look at him.

“Nothing,” Merlin says quickly.

“Cab should be here in five minutes,” Arthur says, pocketing his phone.

“Great,” Merlin says, launching himself onto Arthur, and it’s only partly to distract him from seeing the others.

Over Arthur’s shoulder, he can see them cheering and hugging, Gwaine turning his back to the door, pretending he’s making out with someone. Merlin blinks, and then Gwaine _actually is_ making out with someone (Percival, he thinks? It wouldn’t be the first time) and the others have left them to it.

“Wow,” Arthur gasps, when Merlin’s onslaught is over, “Merry Christmas to me.”

 

* * *

 

epilogue.

Merlin sneaks into the office at 11.20am the next day. He’s trying to be inconspicuous, but once he gets a look at everyone, he doesn’t reckon he needs to bother. The staff represent the full spectrum of Great British hangover: silently drinking coffee (Lancelot), hidden under a hoodie and sunglasses (Leon), lying face down and groaning quietly (Percival), annoyingly perky and revelling in it (Gwen), absent (Gaius), stuffing down five bacon butties (Gwaine), still drunk (Morgana), and being sick in a paper bin (Elyan). The office is littered with the wreckage of the night before – wrapping paper that despite Leon’s best efforts wasn’t placed in the designated recycling bin, empty bottles of alcohol, and a huge amount of forlorn paper chains, paper plates and cups.

“Good _afternoon_ ,” Gwen says cheerily, coffee pot in hand, “Coffee?”

“Please,” Merlin says weakly, sinking into his chair.

Gwen fills his mug.

“Coffee,” Percival groans.

He’s lying on the sofa next to Gwaine, who is sitting back, feeding him a bacon butty with one hand and eating his own with the other.

“He’s getting better,” Gwaine says, “That’s the most he’s said all day.”

“Here you go!” Gwen says, walking over and pouring him a mug.

Percival winces as she puts it down on the glass table with a clink. That’s when Arthur walks in. Gwen’s eyes light up.

“Good morning Arthur,” she says, “Coffee?”

“Er, yes, yes, please,” Arthur says, setting down his bag and coat, “We er, just had a meeting.”

“Two meetings,” Merlin adds.

“Two?” Gwen says, pouring the coffee and looking at Merlin with a knowing smile, “No wonder you’re late.”

“Thank you,” Arthur says.

“You left before Gaius started dancing on the desks,” Gwaine says, “ _Santa Baby_ came on and we just couldn’t hold him back.”

Merlin laughs.

“Merlin, I actually need you to photocopy these for me. Please,” Arthur says, gesturing to a sheaf of paper on his desk.

“Sure,” Merlin says.

Their finger brush as he picks it up.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Gwen and Gwaine look at each other, noticing how it’s the politest they’ve ever been to each other. Merlin heads over to the copier room. He bursts out again about three seconds later.

“Oh my God, you should _never_ do that on a copier machine!”

Morgana cackles.

“I expect that kind of thing from Morgana, but _Leon_?” Merlin says, “I’m shocked. And… actually kind of impressed.”

Perhaps he isn’t the most boring person Merlin knows, after all.

“You know,” Leon says croakily, “We should really clean up in there.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can really get [that turkey hat](https://thumbs2.ebaystatic.com/d/l225/m/mYZdb8cBhcaU493VUoDdqnw.jpg), and it is glorious.


End file.
